


On the Right Foot

by Kizzywiggle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: F/M, Foot Fetish, Laboutin shoes, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:58:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/Kizzywiggle
Summary: I still ship Mallorpenny SO HARD. I also love writing office nookie.For Kris H :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this is...a difficult one. I wrote the first half about a year ago and didn't know where I was going with it.
> 
> Then a Twitter chum prompted me with M/F, feet, and as freaky/explicit as I liked. I tired other fandoms and original stuff but nothing worked...so I returned to this and tweaked it a bit. A lot. And shifted the focus down a couple of feet (love that joke, sorry). And here it is.
> 
> I'm not sure if I like it or not: feet are not my thing AT ALL, and I don't feel as emotionally connected as usual, but (with a lot of research and a couple of artist tantrums) I'VE DONE IT!!!! Written foot stuff!

The outer office door snicked open, Himself pushing through it in a flurry of wet woollen overcoat and shaking umbrella, his briefcase thumping to the floor. His fine fair hair was plastered damply to his skull, and he looked fairly bedraggled and pathetic for the man in charge of Britain's security and its associated stable of paper-pushers, boffins and killers. Eve gave a quiet chuckle and moved around her desk to help him out of his wet coat.

“Morning, Sir,” she chirped, taking his umbrella to put in the stand by the door. “Let me help you with that?”

She moved behind him, pressing herself along his wet back, and slid her hands over his shoulders and under the open front of his coat, oh-so-slowly dragging the front apart before pulling it down his arms. Eve made sure to stroke against his hands with her fingertips, and was delighted when he couldn't suppress a little shudder. Leaning in just a bit more, she whispered, “There, all done,” in his ear, then turned to hang his coat on the coat rack.

By the time she turned back, Himself had collected himself and picked up his briefcase. “Coffee, Moneypenny?” He paused microscopically as he noticed the wet spots on her silk blouse and the hint of lacy bra showing through the fabric, then flicked a dispassionate gaze up to her smiling face and said, “As soon as possible, thank you.” Himself turned and disappeared into the inner office as she moved to the small kitchenette to make coffee.

When she tapped on the door of his office five minutes later – carrying a small tray with his coffee and her tablet on it - she had locked the outer door, set the out-of-office on her email, flicked on the answer phone, and stripped off her blouse. At his barked, “Enter!” she opened the door and crossed the office to set the coffee tray on his desk. Himself was deep into an old-fashioned paper file and didn't acknowledge her state, merely saying, “Take dictation, please,” as he lifted the cup to his mouth.

“Yes, Sir,” Eve replied, settling in the chair opposite his desk and crossing her legs so her skirt rode up high enough to show off both her stocking tops and the red-soled, spike-heeled Laboutin 'Lady’ patent pumps she'd found on sale. Opening the note taking app on her tablet, Eve waited for his dictation. He began.

Himself continued to give dictation and notes for twenty minutes, not once looking in her direction. Her fingers flew across the tablet's screen; emails, instructions and reprimands sent winging across cyberspace with graceful economy of style. Sat so scantily clad, she began to chill after a while and delicate shivers chased across her skin, raising goosebumps and tightening her nipples to the point where they were clearly visible as dark points behind the lacy fabric of her cream bra. When she squirmed in her chair and shivered with an audible inhalation, Himself finally looked up.

His cold blue gaze warmed, a slow, wicked grin transforming his normally unmemorable features into a devilish, cheeky mask. 

“I wondered how long it'd be before you got cold,” he said, then crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”

She stood - leaving her tight pencil skirt rucked up - and swayed around the desk on skyscraper heels, pinning him to his chair with her dark eyes. Her shoes didn't make a sound on the deep, plush carpet, but she made sure to walk so that her stockings rubbed and whispered in the charged silence, sending tickles of sensation sparking up her legs into her core. The sound of their breaths seemed impossibly loud and wonderfully intimate in the high-ceilinged office, a siren song of stolen time and wicked promise.

Himself swung his chair around ninety degrees so that by the time she rounded his desk he was facing her, posture erect, hands folded loosely across his stomach, left ankle resting on right knee, face now returned to its usual neutral expression. To anyone who didn't know him, he would have seemed almost disinterested - but to Eve, who by now knew him well, the intent in his body and face was clear as day. 

She stopped about eighteen inches from his chair and stood primly before him. “Sir.” It was a statement, not a question. 

His gazed stroked down her body, burning hot. He made a little swirling movement with one index finger and she turned slowly on the spikes of her heels, displaying herself for both their pleasure. “Stop,” he said, once her back was to him, and the leather of his chair creaked as he stood. His large, warm hands slid around her waist and he pulled her until her chilled back was flush against his front, the beginnings of his erection just nudging against her bottom. His chin slid over her shoulder, his nose nudging her hair away from her ear, which he nibbled at delicately. “What's this in aid of?” Himself asked as he licked and nipped down her neck and across her shoulder. 

She bit back a gasp as his teeth scraped across the sensitive skin of her nape. “Nothing, Sir. My blouse was wet, and silk stains, so I had to take it off to sort it…out… Oh!” The conflicting sets of almost-sensations were making it hard for her to think clearly, and she moaned and tried to grind back against him.

“That's absolute bollocks,” he growled. He nudged his hardness more firmly against her, setting up a maddening not-rhythm which made her arch her back, pushing her bottom into him. He brought one hand up to cup a breast, thumb barely skimming the sensitive skin of her areola, completely ignoring her desperately hard nipple as he teased and thrust and stroked and breathed and bit until she whimpered and squirmed in his hold. “You wanted to tease me, don't deny it!”

“Prove it!” she sassed, crying aloud as he pinched her aching nipple and bit hard on her nape simultaneously. Suddenly he released her, leaving her hot with arousal yet shivering in the faintly cool air of the room.

“Turn around,” Himself ordered in the clipped voice which he normally saved for hauling his minions over the carpet. She turned back obediently. Himself had shrugged off his jacket and taken his tie off. He arched a brow. “Come here, please,” he said, quietly now.

She made as if to perch on his lap - a naughty office minx on Santa’s knee, perhaps? - but he frowned and shook his head. With dawning understanding, she smiled at him and turned yet again. She smoothed her tight skirt back down over her thighs until it was straight, stroking her hands slowly over her high, pert backside to check everything was perfect. She glanced over her shoulder to see his gaze riveted on her legs as though he had x-ray vision. She slid her hands to the concealed zipper on her hip and inched it down in a slow, growling tease. The teeth of the zip parted, the fabric of the skirt loosening until she slid her thumbs beneath the waistband and pushed the garment to the floor in one slick movement, standing still as it slid down over her stockinged legs to puddle around her impractically high heels.

Stepping out of her skirt, Eve turned, and moved to perch on the edge of Himself's desk, lowering herself to sit on the antique mahogany. She heard his breathing pick up, saw his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Leaning back, Eve slowly raised her left leg, then bent her knee to bring her foot, clad in the shiny peep-toe, right to where her lacy underwear was dampest. Himself’s pupils widened as Eve repeated the move with her right leg, ending up perched like a 50’s pin-up with her feet together almost primly before her aching core, and her body leaning away in a sinuous curve. “...Sir,” she whispered.

With a groan, Himself reached forward to stroke his hands over the shiny patent of her shoes, up, up, along her smoothly stockinged legs to finally slip his index fingers under her stocking-tops, sliding them backwards and forwards, his nails a tiny tease on her skin. He scooted forward in his chair and rested his forehead against Eve’s knees before moving his hands down to cup the backs of her thighs, then dragging his palms back down the length of her legs until he could place reverent hands on her heels. She smiled to herself as he exhaled a great, shuddering breath, lifting his head to meet her eyes over her bent knees.

“ _These shoes…_ ”

“Nice, aren't they?” Eve agreed innocently, not like she'd purchased them with the express intent of driving him wild.

“They're...inexpressibly wonderful,” he said, stroking the very tip of her big toes where they showed at the peep toe. 

Himself was fond of biting and being bitten, and as he reverently removed her shoes to worship her feet, he nipped and tugged at her feet with care, worrying at the tender flesh of her arches, biting softly into the plump curve of her big toe. When his tongue flicked out to lave the sting, Eve gave a small scream and shuddered hard. Himself repeated the loving torture on her other foot, kissing and licking and nipping until they were both panting hard and very, very turned on.

Himself released her feet. “Stand up,” he ordered. Sliding off of the desk to stand before him, she looked down at his face: it was flushed with arousal, mouth swollen, nostrils flaring with each breath, and she felt her own arousal ramp up higher in response. He sat forward and cupped her bottom with both broad, capable palms, and manoeuvred her to stand straddled across both his knees while he looked up at her calmly and quietly. The combination of power and vulnerability she felt posed this way made her groan low in the back of her throat and she wriggled in his grasp.

He looked down and very slowly, deliberately, unhooked her garters from her stockings. He patted his knee and Eve lifted her right foot foot to rest on his knee, sliding her toes along his thigh, stopping just shy of the erection tenting his trousers. Himself inhaled sharply and pulled her stocking down her leg and lifted her foot to slide the gossamer-fine nylon off, dropping it to the floor carelessly. 

At his next gesture, Eve changed legs, wobbling slightly, and she squeaked and grabbed at his shoulders. “Steady,” he reproached her and she murmured an apology while regaining her balance.

Himself performed the same ritual on her left leg: the stocking was removed and discarded to leave Eve clad in only her underwear before him. He looked down at her feet: long, elegant feet with slim toes and neat nails painted cheekily red, white and blue. A delicate filigree ring was around the fourth toe of her left foot - a secret sign of her commitment to him for just the two of them to see. He looked back up, his eyes dark and shiny with lust, his colour high and his breathing shallow, and nodded once. “Oh, I approve!”

Eve met his gaze aware that she was breathing hard and was hotly, wetly aroused by his approval. Her toes curled into the carpet and she bit her lip, trying not to make a sound.

“Back on the desk, please,” he asked, and she acquiesced happily. “Lie down, love,” he told her. Once she was flat, the leather of the desk blotter soft and faintly clingy against her back, Himself lifted her right foot with both hands and rested it against his cheek with an exhalation of utter contentment. He turned his head to inhale the scent of her foot and stroked her instep with his nose, pressing a kiss to the ball of her big toe at the top of the movement, before licking between her first and second toe and enveloping her big toe in his mouth. He groaned loudly, the vibration adding another sensory thrill to her already overloaded system, and Eve whimpered as heat and electricity raced up her legs to her centre.

She lifted her left foot and tucked it into his groin, rubbing and stroking against his hardness with her toes, her arch, the outside of her foot… He huffed against the toes he was now kissing and thrust up against her teasing movement, so she curled her toes and drew tiny circles over the top of his cock. He stopped what he was doing and reached down to fumble his fly open, releasing his cock for her to toy with.

Eve sat up, bringing both feet in to cradle his erection: it was hot and hard and throbbed faintly against her soles. She brought her feet together for him to nestle between, and he cupped his hands over her feet and thrust shallowly into the space she'd made. They both gasped at the sensation, and Eve moved her knees apart so she could slide a hand into her knickers and stroke herself as Himself pushed his cock harder between her feet. She used her fingers to echo the stroking of his hands over her feet, strumming harder as his movements grew more forceful, more frantic…

With a cry of "Gosh!", Himself came, ejaculating stickily over his hands and Eve's feet, and Eve rubbed herself _just_ enough to send herself over too, silent apart from a tiny moan and a long sigh. 

She lay back as he put himself to rights and carefully, lovingly cleaned her feet up after fetching a damp towel from his small private bathroom. It was another part of his ritual, and although she didn't fully understand his love of her feet, she adored the feeling of being treasured and cared for by this private, powerful man.

Housekeeping attended to, he helped her dress as much as possible, and when she was once again clad in everything but her blouse, he looked down at her feet in the skyscraper pumps and huffed out a laugh. “It might be better for you _not_ to wear those to the office on a regular basis, Love,” he said. He looked her in the eye as he added, “The Nation could crumble to dust around us, and I honestly wouldn't care, as long as you had those on!”

Eve giggled. “Message received and understood, Sir. Sensible brogues only from here on in!”

Himself smiled faintly. “I'm glad you understand. Now. Perhaps we should return to keeping Britain safe and secure, hmm?”

And as easily as that, he was M once more, and she was Miss Moneypenny. Albeit a flushed and rumpled M, and a giggling, slightly wobbly Moneypenny.

Business as usual. 


End file.
